


The Butcher and her Gaoler

by JoansGlove



Series: Wentworth Detention Centre: The Ferguson Years [4]
Category: Prisoner (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/F, Knifeplay, Piquerism, Self-Mutilation, wounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: The quest for power and control can take us down some strange paths....A totally AU PCBH fic imagining what might have happened if Joan and Bev had met properly!I warn you now - it's not for the faint-hearted, but if you want more Bev she's in Eps 472 - 477





	The Butcher and her Gaoler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DirtyDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyDuchess/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my dear, dear Duchess! Freak love ya, mate <3
> 
> Thanks to Ifitbelove for her assistance
> 
> and more than a nod of acknowledgement to Natsuo Kirino and the plethora of gory horror books and movies that I devoured as a young'un

It took a few moments for Joan to get her head around what she was witnessing. The new inmate, Baker, was naked and holding a kitchen knife.

 

Joan’s lips tightened at slackness in security that had enabled a prisoner to steal a weapon, especially a murderer who’d dismembered her victim. The prisoner stood in the middle of her cell, her tall, rangy body at ease as she cradled the blade in her hands. Her skin was patterned with scar tissue, some shining silver and ghostlike, others still young and angry looking… She seemed completely unfazed as Joan's brittle gaze slowly travelled over the swell of her still-high breasts and down her toned belly before coming to rest on the bushy valley between her lean thighs. Nor did she react when Joan pulled her black leather gloves from her waistband and drew them on with practiced ease.

 

Alarm sounded stridently in Joan's brain but she controlled the instinctive flush of adrenaline. “What do you want, Baker? Are you looking for a fight?” The woman in front of her tossed back her head and snorted.

“Oh, quite the contrary. Don’t worry, Miss Ferguson, you don’t have to be scared of me. You're quite safe,” Bev nonchalantly shaved a few hairs from the back of her wrist and Joan noted how deep shadows played in the hollows beneath her sharp cheekbones as Baker lifted her eyes to hers with a reassuring smile, “for now at least. I think that we’d make a good team, you and me. Out there,” she raised her pointed chin to indicate the corridor, “and behind closed doors too.”

 

Joan eyed the weapon as she weighed up the situation. She’d heard that this was a woman who had purposely trapped her own hand in the press just to see what it felt like and after what she’d read in the Police file, Joan didn’t like her odds should it come to disarming her. But her pulse had quickened for another reason and she knew that it wasn’t from fear. Nor was it Baker’s nudity, of that she was quite sure.

“Shut the door, Miss Ferguson, we don’t need an audience.” Bev nodded in satisfaction as Ferguson consented; any other officer would have locked her in the cell and rushed off for reinforcements but not this woman – no, from what she’d already heard from the other women, Ferguson sang from a different hymn sheet, one where the words were cries of fear and of pain and despair – this could prove to be a very enjoyable first encounter.

 

“Have you ever knifed someone?” she asked conversationally. Genuine interest filled her eyes and her lips twitched in encouragement as she waited for Ferguson's response.

Joan was momentarily dragged back to her very first riot when she and Cynthia had fought side by side, tooth and claw to escape. She’d wrestled the shank from one of the women and then two more had tried to rush her, she’d had no time to deflect the blade – Joan could still taste the shape of the horror that had flooded her frayed nerves, and the strange, soothing satisfaction that had followed, she’d never felt more alive!

“Not intentionally,” came her reply at last.

 

What an unusual answer… Bev studied Ferguson's guarded expression with a raised eyebrow, searching for a chink in her armour. “Oh, you should! Intentionally, I mean, it’s a very interesting experience. It’s interesting to see how people react. With surprise, anger, with resignation even. I think it has a lot to do with how you stab them though. Do it quickly and they don’t even realise until they feel the burning heat of their own blood. Do it slowly and let them watch and it’s a whole different story – you can almost taste their fear. You can feel it as you slip the blade into their skin and muscle, it’s fun to watch their disbelief, their despair, their…” she paused to gauge Ferguson's reaction and drew the tip of the knife along the blue veins in her wrist, “incomprehension.”

 

No matter how hard she tried, the guard couldn’t hide her reaction but Bev couldn’t yet decide whether it was revulsion or excitement that caused the officer’s pupils to dilate and the soft pulse in her neck to beat more rapidly.  

“I don’t understand it myself,” continued Bev, “it’s not as if there’s anything to be scared of.” Without warning she angled the knife inwards and pushed the sharp tip into her side. “Aaah!” she breathed as steel bit seductively into her flesh, and her dark eyes flickered over The Freak’s face once more, picking up on the micro-expressions that played just below the skin. Definitely excitement she decided.

Joan prickled with fascination but she kept her expression neutral.

 

“I’m not playing your game, Baker,” she sneered dismissively and turned towards the door. She’d met her fair share of masochists and lunatics in her time but none of them had stirred her senses like this one right now. She knew that Baker wanted her as her very own special audience, she could see that Baker was getting off on the scene; but she also knew that Baker could quite easily turn on her if she thought that she held all the power. The woman was vain and arrogant, and it was important to handle her properly.

 

“What? You're not going to save the day and stop me from hurting myself?”

 

Joan shrugged and asked flatly, “why should I? You can kill yourself for all I care.”

 

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, eh?” she goaded. “Come on, aren’t you just a little intrigued by the link between pleasure and pain?” The knife pierced her flesh and Bev gasped as the odd, grating sensation of steel against flesh resonated through her body and into her brain. The flash of euphoria made her lean frame ripple and she sought to convey what she was feeling to Ferguson with a look of dark desire. “You can’t hide something like that from someone like me, you know.”

 

Joan watched transfixed as Baker ran her long fingers around the edge of her new wound. There was some blood but not much. It would come though, she thought to herself, it would pour out as soon as one of them removed the knife. She continued to watch as Baker rubbed the thin red trickle into her skin and she felt something awaken in her soul, something that felt almost sexual in the way that it made her buzz and flutter.  

 

Bev’s expression hardened. “Let’s stop with the games, eh? Wanna know why I chose you? It’s because you interest me. You don’t do this job because you want to help us.” She smiled as Joan confirmed this with a scornful ‘pffft’. “No,” she continued, “you do it because it suits who you are. You have power, I can see that. We are alike in that respect. Power and control,” she mused. “What else is there in this life that gives more pleasure, hmm?”

 

Although Baker was right, part of Joan knew that there _was_ something else. She’d had it once, the one thing that everyone said was all you needed – love. She’d had control of her life back then, it’s direction had been assured but then her world had been shattered and all the good in it torn away. And to save herself from drowning she’d embraced what was left – the jagged pain that scoured her mind and soul, the need to avenge Audrey, to take her revenge on those animals. And yes, what she’d created since then was powerful reign of fear. She’d discovered and embraced facets of her personality that most would find disturbing. She was a sadist and she took a perverse pleasure in creating discord; she was a misanthropist too – she had no time to weep over the misfortunes of others, nor to feel joy at their achievements – to her mind, other people were little better than ants in a hill.

“Then you’ll know what to expect if you cross me, don’t ya, Baker?”

 

“I’ve always said that in order to live life to the full you need to experience everything possible. Don’t you agree?” Bev tilted her head, “I think that you do.” Her fingers trailed up the long blade, along the handle and elegantly extended themselves to Joan in a silent invitation.

Joan swallowed. Her tawny eyes darted from Baker’s dark stare, down to the wound and back. She licked her lips with a suddenly dry tongue. “You want me to cut you?” she asked sharply, the words almost catching in her throat as excitement quickened in her chest.

 

“Of course! What else? I want you to see what it’s like to cut into someone who really wants it” Bev agitated the blade in her side and felt the glow of endorphins wreathe her senses, she clenched her thighs together as her clit beat erratically in response. “That way,” she explained, “you won’t be interrupted by pathetic attempts to escape. Consider it a house warming gift from me to you.” She thought that Ferguson looked unsure but there was no flicker of fear in the amazon’s eyes like with the other sheep in this hole, instead, she got the impression that Ferguson wanted to play but couldn’t believe her good luck.

Joan swept her eyes over Baker’s nakedness. “What else do you want?”

“Why, nothing!” Bev stepped closer to Ferguson and smiled innocently. “Well, not yet. We need to get to know each other a little better first, don’t you agree?”

 

Joan hesitated, but not for long. Despite Baker’s obvious arousal, this was hardly an amorous encounter, but the odd situation raised a strangely eager curiosity in her and she was intrigued to see just how far she wanted to go with this. She was no stranger to blood or pain.  Over the years she’d seen pretty much every injury that anyone could sustain in a place like this – and a few more besides. She’d dealt with wounds that would make a seasoned paramedic blanch (and had saved a few lives in the process), she’d also inflicted wounds that had raised her reputation to folkloric proportions but, other than a bit of rather tame S&M, she’d never hurt someone just because they wanted her to.

 

Wrapping her fingers around Baker’s, Joan pushed the blade deeper and stared long and hard into the manic depths of Baker’s eyes. Adrenaline heightened her senses and she could feel the steady boom of her pulse in her throat and her crotch. If she angled the blade upwards then she could easily puncture Baker’s lung, even her heart if she thrust hard enough. The sudden power over life or death was intoxicating and Joan's chest hitched as she supressed a gasp.

“You like it, don’t you? Feels good, doesn’t it?” Joan was forced to admit to herself that it did but she worked at keeping her features impassive.

 

Gone was Baker’s arrogant tone, instead her words were thickened with desire. With a gentle sawing motion, Joan sliced through the bands of muscle, watching with fascination at how the woman’s flank twitched as it parted it with ease. This moment was so insanely intimate yet so unbelievably surreal and Joan was having trouble separating her emotions. She’d spent years meting out pain and torment but not like this. Never like this. She withdrew the knife and stared at its patterned surface glinting between them. Blood dripped from its point and heavy droplets spattered the bare concrete floor, the warm liquid soaking into the worn surface, and Joan felt a bead of lubrication work its way along her inner lips and up over her clit until it burst free and bled into her pubic hair.

 

Thick ropes of blood shone beneath the caged bulb of the cell as they wound themselves down Baker’s hip, weaving together and separating again as they traced the lines of her muscles, and the rich, crimson gloss slowly pooled around her bare foot. Joan transferred the knife to her left hand and gently caressed the angry skin above the dark rent. There was so much rich, red blood that the soft leather of her glove would be ruined and she quickly stripped it off with her teeth and pocketed it before she returned her attention to the matter in hand. She pressed her fingers against the gaping slit in Baker’s side, watching the woman’s face contort in a leer of delighted satisfaction. “Knew you’d do it,” she hissed into Joan's face.

“Did you, really?” she asked disinterestedly as she pressed harder.

 

“Of course. I also know that the thought of killing me crossed your mind, and that’s good. You’ve got balls, Miss Ferguson,” Joan looked at Baker quizzically, “I need that in a woman. You’re not the type to turn tail and run should I offer you a little pain of your own either, are you?”

“That all depends on what I was being offered to stay, Baker. You get nothing for nothing in this world, that I know all too well.” Joan aimed to sound coolly ambivalent but Baker’s insight forced a small tremor in her voice.

 

Bev pushed herself into Ferguson's touch and stroked the strong fingers that curled tightly around the moulded black knife handle. “What do you think you’d like as your prize? I’ve heard that it’s usually the pretty ones that take your fancy, not ones like me. I admit that I’ve never been what you’d call a looker, never bothered to learn how to be feminine either, yet I have more to offer you than any of these hopeless bitches rolled together. I can take you further than you ever thought possible. And we have all the time in the world, I’m going to be in here until I die.”

“Or until they commit you to Ingleside,” she sneered, sidestepping the question. “You don’t worry that that’s a possibility?”

 

“Ha!” exclaimed Bev with contempt. “You're forgetting that I’ve been declared sane! I’m not the first serial killer in here, and I won’t be the last. They just clamour over me because I killed so many men for no apparent reason, and because I have no remorse. They just don’t want to accept that I was performing a much-needed public service. This world needs less men in it.”  
“I won’t argue with that,” with tiny movements, Joan fingered the edges of the sticky wound and ghosted the spine of the knife up the woman’s long torso until it rested at Baker’s throat, “any more than I can argue with my desire to cut you again.”

“So, do it. I want you to, “Bev’s voice darkened, “I need you to. Do it. Now.” Her arms hung by her sides as she lifted her chin and offered herself to her new friend.

 

“You're not telling me what to do are you, Baker?” Joan trailed the knife down her chest and pressed the wicked edge against the side of Baker’s breast but, instead of granting her the kiss of the blade, she thrust two fingers into the hole in her side, curling them around the layers of skin, fat and muscle until their tips slipped against the flexible inner surface of her abdomen. The heat was startling, so was Baker’s response. The tall woman’s hips bucked and she cried out, sagging against Joan's shoulder as she breathed heavily into her khaki uniform. Joan hadn’t been quick enough with the knife and a thin rill of blood trickled down Baker’s ribs from a shallow nick.

 

“Oh, god! Yes!” Being violated in such a depraved manner was beyond anything Bev could have imagined and her fingers slid between her thighs as she rode the rush, “give me more!” she rasped hoarsely. Her pale face shone with a mixture of need and blessed release.  She’d made a good choice with Ferguson.

Joan obliged, watching Baker intently as the arousal in her eyes clouded briefly with the tearing bite of raw muscle and skin being pulled and stretched as she jammed her fingers in up to the third knuckle.

 

Hot flesh writhed around her blood-soaked hand and she marvelled at the novel sensation, so similar yet so obscenely different from sliding her fingers deep into a woman’s cunt. Baker’s hand began to move and Joan tuned her thrusts to match her rhythm. This was a whole new level of penetration, something so wickedly perverse that she was powerless to resist it.

 

Bev glanced down at the sticky blade as it threatened to open her skin further. The small, painless scratch was already clotting and it was barely a drop in the ocean compared to what she needed. “Don’t keep teasing me, Ferguson, cut me!” she gasped returning her shining eyes to her tormentor’s, “cut me deep, make me bleed again!”

With a flick of her wrist Joan sliced evenly into the ivory softness, revealing the thick bed of yellow fat lying just below the surface like a layer of creamy caviar. A strange sensation of friction worked its way up her arm and into the small space beneath her brain where it continued to resonate at a frequency that inflamed her own curious arousal.  Its purpose fulfilled, Joan discarded the knife and stripped her other glove before her large hand returned to Baker’s breast to milk the scarlet flow. It perfumed her naked fingers with a rich metallic essence as it raced unchecked over her knuckles and soaked into the cuff of her yellow shirt.  

 

The animal scent of blood and musk pouring from the naked prisoner swept Joan's taut senses to new heights, to the point where there was almost no distinction between the rush of exploration and a steady beat of sex in her veins. She sought to control herself, any unconscious indication of weakness could signal disaster, but she was finding it hard to maintain her composure in the face of such rarefied provocation. Joan's skin prickled as heat built beneath her uniform and she caught the sharp tang of her own sweat in her flared nostrils as she jammed her finger into the gash and cruelly squeezed Baker’s slippery tit, forcing her backwards until the woman staggered under the dual assault and connected heavily with the locker.

“Does that hurt, Baker?” she growled. Another bead of lubrication insinuated itself along her sex.

 

“Oh, yes! hissed Bev. Her body was screaming for release as her cunt began to contract and she fleetingly considered kissing Ferguson but she was still very much an unknown quantity and it was too soon for that kind of familiarity. But their faces were so close, their exhaled breath eddied in the mere inch of air that separated their parted lips. No! She needed her wits about her – a kiss would lead to more, she just knew it, and she was so hot right now, so close to coming that she wanted no distractions from having Ferguson's hands on her, in her – she needed to meet the craving that had slowly been consuming her for years.

 

She’d met several women on her journey to perfection who’d thought that they could run with her idea of fun but, in the end, none of them had measured up. It was against her rules to kill females but, knowing that they would have eventually shared their secrets with the wrong people, she’d been forced to silence them. A simple lobotomy with a power drill had made sure that they never told anybody anything ever again. But now she had Ferguson, a woman who already surpassed all of her other lovers. 

 

Bev glanced down between their bodies. So much blood! Yet not enough. Not enough pain either. Her eyes found the sullied blade where it had landed in the sink but it was too far away from her to grasp. There were other ways to hurt more though, other ways to make the blood flow… Her hand found Ferguson's and she uncurled a third finger, introducing it to the self-inflicted incision. “Imagine that you're fucking me, Joan,” she bared her teeth as she rode a wave of exquisite bliss, “I feel that I can call you Joan now, hmm?”

 

Joan twisted her fingers making Baker groan loudly. “Don’t be impertinent, Baker. You’ll call me Miss Ferguson just like everyone else. Who do you think you are, eh?”

“No worries,” she gasped, “there’ll be next time, and the time after that. I know that we’ll soon be the best of friends, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Baker,” growled Joan and ground her knuckles into the tight slit. “I only want to hear from you when you come.”

“Keep doing what you're doing, then,” she panted, “and it won’t be long. It’s such a shame that you're not fucking me properly as well though, but like I say, there’s always next time.”

Joan's lip curled. “You assume a lot, Baker,” she sneered and kneed her hard in the groin, smiling evilly at the crackling pop of the woman’s knuckles as her fingers were mashed against her pubic bone. Baker’s head snapped back and she came with a sharp cry. She looked totally feral and Joan could see that despite her obvious surrender to pleasure, she still retained the alertness and cunning of a wild animal. The thin metal doors flexed as Baker sagged against the locker and Joan's fingers slid from her body.

“Nicely done, Miss Ferguson,” she congratulated hoarsely as she sank to her knees.

 

As Ferguson cleaned up at the sink, Bev inspected her gaping wounds. “I’ll need a suture pack, iodine, dressings and some broad-spectrum antibiotics.”

“You’ll have to wait until after lock-up.”

“Right-o. Don’t want you getting caught, now, do we?”

Joan ignored her mocking tone. “I’ll return this to the kitchen, shall I?” she held up the now clean knife.

“If you must. There’s plenty of other ways to have fun with the women,” she mused.

Joan shot her blood-stained cuffs and inspected her uniform for marks. “Tch! I don’t care what you do to them,” she said airily, “knock yourself out as long as it’s not on my watch.”

Bev sniffed thoughtfully, “too much paperwork, eh? Ok,” she agreed, “it’s a deal.”

 

*****

 

Joan interrogated her reflection as she scrubbed dried blood from beneath her nails. There was no denying that she was still affected by Baker’s little show. She looked down at her nipples as they pushed at the fabric of her sensible bra and she slid her mons against the basin’s edge, breathing in deeply at the alluring pressure on her clit.

 

“Boy! What happened to you?” Junior Officer Heather Rogers stood in the doorway of the Ladies’ gawping at Joan's soiled shirt in the other sink, and then at her semi-naked chest. Joan scowled at being so rudely interrupted, and by someone so pathetically odious, too. Goody two shoes Rogers, always standing up for what’s right, but not above bringing in drugs for a prisoner _or_ spreading vicious, unfounded gossip about Joan's involvement in the riot.

“Did you want something, Rogers? Perhaps you're waiting for me to get the rest of my gear off?” She reached for a sheaf of paper towels and swaggered towards the junior officer. “Then,” she said in a voice dripping in pure venom, “you could tell them all how I tried to seduce you. Another lie to add to your arsenal.”

“No! I, I,” stammered the young woman indignantly, “I saw the blood and couldn’t help but wonder what happened…”

Joan flung the wad of used paper into the bin and sneered contemptuously at the blushing woman, “yeah, I bet,” she sneered. “For your information that new woman, Baker had a nosebleed. Quite a gusher in fact. Blood all over her cell. Now, do you think that I might be left to get changed in peace?”

“Yes, yes of course,” she replied coldly. “I’ll know better than to enquire after your health next time, Miss Ferguson.”

“Atta girl!” called Joan as the door swung shut behind the two-faced bitch.

 

Locking herself in the largest cubicle Joan leaned back against the cool tiled wall and roughly circled her nipples. They responded instantly to her touch and her hips swivelled reflexively as her cunt tightened. Closing her eyes, she continued to tease her nipples until the slippery ache between her legs became overwhelming and one hand dipped behind the waistband of her skirt into her underwear. She was soaking wet and her damp thighs trembled uncontrollably as she circled the peak of her exposed clit with a heavy fingertip. Then, sliding her fingers deep into her swollen heat, she conjured the burning memory of penetrating Baker’s abdomen and felt the tantalising, fluttering suggestion of orgasm infiltrate her sexual flesh.  

 

In her mind’s eye, Joan imagined Baker fucking her with a thick, leather sheathed cock as she wormed her fingers deep into the prisoner’s belly, the pair of them bloody and panting like beasts, Baker rocking and straining against her….

Jesus, it was coming on fast! Joan reached out for the support of the partition opposite and pushed the backs of her widened thighs against the tile whilst her hand worked furiously within the confines of her clothing. Such was the power of her fantasy, Joan could feel the cock filling her, could feel it sliding in and out with deliberate jarring force until her whole body was taut and the crushing sweetness in her cunt was too much to bear. She came hard around her fingers, her jaw locking as she choked out a string of mewling gasps until her shaking arm weakened and Joan collapsed forwards, her forehead coming to rest on the back of her hand as she sucked in deep, shuddering breaths to replenish her starved lungs.

Fuck! That was intense!

 

But as her thoughts cleared she knew that her fantasy would never come to fruition. Baker was probably good for one more tryst – give her a few days and then burst her stitches for her -  but then (Joan knew) she would have to kill her. Baker was far too dangerous to be afforded any hold over her. She’d consider herself totally invincible and no doubt take Top Dog spot, no, she was too much of a threat to the smooth running of Joan’s prison. Joan would not permit it.


End file.
